We Are All Monsters
by Over the Winter Wall
Summary: Kiloh's father receives a letter from Prince Lesagero of France, stating that he wants him to bring lumber to the castle on a weekly basis. Kiloh awaits her father the first few days, but when he doesn't come back, she begins to get suspicious. She eventually goes off and tries to find her father. Though, when she gets to the castle, something happens that changes her life forever.
1. Part 1 - The Days In-Between

**Part One**  
>The Days In-Between<p>

Description: (This is a Beauty and the Beast fanfic, please do not hate) Kiloh lived a regular peasant life in a small village, surrounded by woods. No one in the village particularly liked her, except for a couple people who found her intelligence intriguing. The kingdom that the village was a part of was ruled by a prince who lived out in the forest in a castle that no one had ever been to. One day, Kiloh's father receives a letter from the prince, stating that he wants him to bring lumber to the castle on a weekly basis. Kiloh awaits her father the first few days, but when he doesn't come back, she begins to get suspicious. She eventually goes off and tries to find her father. Though, when she gets to the castle, something happens that changes her life forever.  
>(I didn't want to put this in a crossover category, but there are going to be some things in here from Over the Garden Wall and Gone With the Wind)<p>

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><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	2. Chapter 1 - The Table and the Letter

**Chapter One**  
>The Table and the Letter<p>

I quietly sit at my table, writing. All the thoughts run from my head, to my heart, then hands, and somehow end up getting onto the paper from the ink my quill possesses. Thought after thought, word after word... it was all just the same.

Every single day, for seventeen years, I've gotten up and come downstairs to write. Of course I wash up a bit and change from my nightgown to a day dress, like any regular teenage girl. Though, unlike a regular teenage girl, soon after I would always come to my table and write. My table has grown dusty and old over the years, but it's still my table and I am still able to write on it.

My father has attempted talking me into getting a new table for _years_. Though, I always refuse for one particular reason. My mother. This table is one of the only things I have left of her, besides a dress and a ring passed down from her side of the family. I suppose you could say that it's the only thing I ever _use _that she gave me.

In my perspective, the useless belongings she passed down consist of : her wedding dress, which has been in the family for more than three generations, and a beautiful amethyst ring that her mother gave to her whenever she turned thirteen. My mother was born on February 14th, and I, February 6th. She had been planning on keeping the ring, though, since I was born in February, she decided _I_ should keep it, instead. Amethyst_ is _the birthstone of the February, so why not?

I was always mesmerized by the ring, especially as a child, and she soon noticed it. Especially whenever I _begged _her to let me wear it. I remember her saying that I could have it whenever I turned thirteen.

I no longer have _any_ adoration for that ring... all because of her death.

The day I turned seven, my mother caught a most _horrible_ disease that no one could heal. I often have visions of her pale-white face and blood-red eyes staring straight at me whenever she lay on her bed. The images run through my mind and haunt me whenever they have their chance. I try to not think about it, but I can't help what I feel. No one can.

"Good morning, Kiloh!" I hear my father's voice run through the kitchen, soon ending in an echoing silence throughout the room. I became unsteady at the suddenness of his words; I did not even know he had awoken.

"Good morning, father. How are you today?" I ask, still somewhat shaking from him instantaneously coming in. He walked in at the worst possible time, right when I was deep in thought and wonder.

I put down my quill and glanced over at father. He still had bags under his eyes from sleep and you could tell that his light brown hair was quickly and not-so-neatly combed, "I'm all right, just woke up a little groggy this morning," He said, rubbing his eyes and massaging his forehead.

"I see," I said, looking him up and down, trying to decipher why he'd awoken so early. He was in his work clothes, so it obviously had something to do with he and his work out in the fields. I also noticed that his face was a little more wrinkly than usual, and that the silver hairs up at the top of his head poked out a wee bit more. _Stress? Something about first pick? I don't know..., _"Why'd you wake up so early?" I asked, finally.

I saw his muscles tense up a bit, and his shoulders suddenly rose. He was obviously alarmed. I felt my eyebrows knit together in confusion as I waited for an answer. _Something fishy is going on here_, "Uh... well, you see-" He cut off, I raised my eyebrows.

"Is something wrong? Did you forget to plant wheat this year... again?" Last year, he'd forgotten to plant wheat. He had never forgotten to plant anything before, and took it really hard on himself. I remember having to wake him up every single morning and then pulling him out of bed for almost two months! Eventually, he noticed that because of his mess, it was affecting me. So, he tries pushing himself as hard as he can, nowadays.

"Oh, no... nothing's wrong. I just, I just-" He moved over to his small table on the other side of the wall. I watched his hands lightly skim over the top, and then move to the first drawer on the left. He opened it hesitantly and pulled something bright white out.

I moved my head around, attempting to see the white piece of paper he held in front of him, "What's that you got there?" I ask. He moved over slightly and I could see the brim of the... _letter?_ _At least I think that's what that was..._

My father walked towards me with his arm outstretched, handing me the letter, "I was going to show you this whenever I got back, for a surprise. Though," He sighs, "I suppose now is fine," He looks at me and smiles, I couldn't help but smile back. I glance at the letter, it was bright as day and so... clean! Every piece of mail we got was always dusty and torn at the sides, even bent. But no, this one was absolutely perfect! The corners were straight and had absolutely no tear marks; the envelope was completely sealed and left no trace that fingers had ever been pressed into it. It was like a letter from the angels up in Heaven.

"Who is this from!?" I ask, flabbergasted. My hands snatch the beautiful, perfect, white paper from his hands, and grope it so tightly that I'm sure no one would ever be able to open it again, "It looks as if it hasn't even been open. What happened?" I ask.

"Well, yesterday when I got it, I opened it very slightly with the tip of a kitchen knife. I didn't want anything to happen to that paper, especially with whom it's from," He said.

My eyebrows crease together, "Who exactly _is _it from?" I ask. It couldn't have been someone we knew. _Heck, we didn't even know anybody around here, being the new people in town!_

"Open it and see," He said, nodding to the envelope. My eyes soon trailed the edges and corners of the paper, all the way to the crease down the middle of it. Soon, my fingers were there. I pulled up the slip of the envelope. Dad really _had _opened it, the crease was loose and I didn't have to put any tension in my fingers while opening.

With every single second that went by, the more anxious I got. My tongue stuck out as I pulled up the crease, _I could barely take it!_ This letter could be the solution to our lives! We may never have to live in this old, rackety village and house for much longer! I had absolutely no guess of whom it might be from, but the beautiful cursive writing on the front told me it was someone important.

I pulled the slip of paper out of the envelope and put it up to my face. It was written in a gorgeous, wrap-around cursive. All of the letters were twirled around in an infinite circular pattern of which I could not comprehend. The entire letter itself was perfect and had a strange, yet interesting, essence to it.

After taking everything in, I finally decided to read it. The letter said,

**Dear Mr. Ghettzer,**

**Good day, I hope all is going well at the house of Ghettzer! Just to clarify, yes, you have received a letter from the Prince of France.**

My entire body froze, I began to shake.

**I am just making it clear that this isn't some sort of joke or misconception. I hope you understand. **  
><strong>Anyways, I will now continue with what this letter is <em>really <em>about. Since you are closest to the castle, approximately 16 kilometers, it would be appreciated if you could please bring lumber at least once per week here. I understand completely if you cannot, I am sure there is another out in the village that is willing and able. Though, I know that your trip would be the easiest since you live on the far side of the town, near the forest, the trail to the castle begins there. **  
><strong>The castle is currently out of stock of lumber, so it would be nice if you could bring some immediately. I shall discuss further matters once you have arrived. <strong>  
><strong>You <em>should<em> be receiving another letter sometime tomorrow. It is a map to the castle, giving you directions of how to get here and a few other details I cannot fit into this letter at the moment. I have a limited amount of time to be doing these kinds of things.**  
><strong>Well, I'm afraid that this letter has come to its end and it is time to say goodbye. Though, I will be awaiting your arrival to the castle, whenever. If you do decide to come, that is.<strong>

**Sincerely, Prince Raphael Lesagero of France **

I stood there, wide-eyed at dad, "Wha...? But- I... Good Lord Jesus, what is this life?!" I suddenly lost my balance and fell against the table. My dad caught me and pulled me into a hug.

"It's true! I just looked from the window and saw another letter with a white satin ribbon wrapped around the envelope. It must be the map. Once I get it, I'll go ahead and make my way there," I was so excited! I became laughing uncontrollably, _we were finally going to have a purpose to our lives besides wheat and being the new people in town! I knew this day would come!_

"Daddy, I- I don't even know... I just," I paused for a moment to calm down and find the words to say, "I always knew this day would come, a day when our lives would change forever, but I never thought it would come so soon! I always thought I would have to finish _Walking through Wind _for us to _actually _get somewhere in life!"

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><p><em>Walking through Wind <em>is the novel I'm working on currently. I have another novel that I wrote when I was fourteen; it was called _The Tree_, a romance novel. It actually isn't all that good, mostly because I didn't pay attention to the words I was using, nor the chronological time of events. It was all very random and didn't make sense. I'd attempted getting it published, though, got all the same reviews. Every last one of the publishing companies said it was horrible! I had always wondered why, and then went back and read it. I finally understood.

I am now writing this novel, _Walking through Wind_, it is _much _better! Every single time I write a new chapter, I always go back and re-read it, then edit. Sometimes, I have to re-write the whole thing! Though, I usually pay more attention while writing, nowadays.

_Walking through Wind _is about a girl named Nicoletta, she had moved from Italy to a remote forest in Russia. All because her father was a big-time criminal. She did not agree with her father's decisions, but knew her father well and that he was not all that evil. He just had some strange opinions and put those opinions into his actions.

Nicoletta would always help her father whenever he went off and murdered a family or stole from banks; she never enjoyed doing it, but didn't want her father to think of her as a wimp.

Eventually, Nicoletta and her father moved to Russia, to get away from the Italian government. It took them half a year to finally arrive there, and they made a hut out in the woods. Throughout the Winter, Nicoletta took care of her father, who was deadly sick from the cold. She got used to it after a while. Though, at the tail-end of December, her father died.

From then on, she had to take care of herself and live through the harsh climates of Russia all alone. No one even knew she was there. She went through a lot of emotional trauma, and had to push herself to do so many things.

After three years of living in Russia, without anyone, a young soldier finally rescued her and forced her to tell him story about her father. The Italian government was still onto her for being a part of her dad's 'criminal days' and helping him. Though, had mercy. For two years, she lived freely and happily, until a family member of one of her dad's victims snuck in her house and murdered her for revenge.

I wrote this story because I wanted to show whoever read it, how people you love _can _be evil and _can _trick you into things. Even though they may seem not 'all that bad' and they may be your family or a loved one, that doesn't mean you should help them out in doing something you do not agree with. She ended up paying for it in the end.

The novel also has many parts where she has to keep her mental sanity and push through the cold, harsh weather. She hated living all alone and described it somewhat like 'walking through wind.' Because everything on the ground is so far away and you're up in the air all alone, with absolutely no one. That is why I entitled it _Walking through Wind._

I'm at the part right now where the family member finally gets his vengeance. I cried a few times while writing, but hey, it's all good.

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><p>"Ah, yes, I remember you telling me about <em>Walking through Wind<em>! I never got to read it, though. Maybe I could sneak a peak... possibly?" My dad asked, looking over at what I'd been writing.

"Sure! I'll get it for you," I turn around and grab the papers from the table, then pull some out of the drawer, as well. The ones in the drawer are previous chapters. I attempted stacking them in order from the prologue to the latest chapter I'd been writing, though I'm sure it's messed up somewhere in there, "Here you go! If there's a chapter out of place, just fix it and let me know, alright?"

"Alright," He paused, glancing at the papers. I watched as his fingers traced along the top of them, sliding all the way down the edge, "I've always enjoyed your stories, I can't wait to read this one!" He said.

"Well, if you enjoyed _The Tree, _you're bound to _worship _this!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, I'm sure I will," He said through a light smile, "So what are you going to do now?" He asked. I actually didn't know, I suppose I could write something, or go outside and walk around in the fields.

"I think I'll write a little something down and then maybe go for a stroll out in the fields," I said, he nodded and looked down at the papers. He'd begun to read them.

That's when I remembered something, "Wait, dad!" He jolted straight up.

"What is it?!" He said in alarm.

"Aren't you supposed to be heading to the castle to deliver lumber?" I asked. I then saw his entire body freeze and his eyes poke out of his head.

"_OH, YEAH!_ I forgot!" I watched as he put the papers down frantically, "Goodbye, Kiloh, I must go!" He came over and pecked his lips on my forehead, "Please take care of the house while I am gone!" And with that he was out the door. I looked out the window and saw him grab the lumber and then put it in a cart. He got our horse, Felipe, from the barn and hitched him up. Before I knew it, dad was gone.

I smiled as he left. _My life has finally begun._

I walked over to my table and tore off a corner of the single piece of paper on my desk. I grabbed my quill and began writing on it.

**This is one of the best days of my life; I hope I cherish this moment forever.**  
><span><strong>June 14, 1868<strong>

I walked off to the fields, ready to greet someone and tell him everything that'd just happened.

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><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	3. Chapter 2 - The Memory and the Wheat

**Chapter Two **  
>The Memory and the Wheat<p>

As I walk through the fields, I attempt to straighten up my dress a bit. It was wrinkled and torn across the side, also very dusty. The dress was knitted and loomed out of some cotton that my dad had picked out of the field. It was a light blue color and there were white stripes falling down across the top. It was a very ugly dress; no one would have wanted it. But, we had barely any money left and I didn't really care about what I wore or how I looked. I just wanted something comfortable to be in.

The reason I was straightening up my dress, though, is because of Pierre. I didn't want him to feel bad for me or take pity on me, so I tried making myself look as pleasant and as happy as possible.

My shoes were a _whole _different matter, though! They were extremely uncomfortable and pressed into my heels because they were so old! I have marks on and around my feet all because of them. Sometimes at night I have to massage my feet after I take them off just to get the blood flow back in. _I can't do much so he won't have pity on my feet. I guess that's out of the question..._

I hadn't even realized how far I'd gone through the fields! I was almost halfway to the trees. I brushed my hands across the tips of the grain as I went along on my way. The smooth edges of the plant and the small bits at the top were comforting to me.

I breathed in each and every small wif of grain that I could. Grain and wheat have a strange, certain scent that's different from other smells I inhale frequently. They give a 'clean' feeling, but are also peculiar in their own way. I'd become used to it over the years, but never forgot the first time my nose ever took it in.

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><p><em>"Kiloh, do you feel any better?" My father asked. Right before we left last week, I had been vomiting and sick to my stomach the<em>entire_ night. While we were traveling, I'd thrown up at least eight times, though mostly just nausea. My father tried everything to stop me from being sick, but knew that we had to take this journey._

_"I'm somewhat better," I lied, I was feeling_ awful_, "I think it's finally beginning to go away," I felt my lips curve into a forced smile._

_"That's good," He turned his head away and mumbled something to the carriage driver. I knew he wasn't paying attention; he never did during long trips like this. All he ever wanted to do was just pay attention to the road and occasionally speak to the driver. He didn't care about my current state of sickness, or my life in general. He only cared about reaching the destination._

_Next thing you know, his whole demeanor changes. Once we reach our target, he suddenly cares about every single detail having to do with my life. I never really understood or found out why. I suppose that some things just... happen, they are not meant to be explained or understood._

_I began to wonder when we would get to the village. It shouldn't be too far off, "Dad, when might we be arriving?" I asked._

_"Just a few more minutes, and we should see the first few houses outlining it. So not long, dear," I smiled. _Finally. _I'm so glad that we would soon be arriving! It'd felt like an eternity had passed since we left the old house._

_I was so excited that it seemed I'd forgotten proper etiquette, "Kiloh, keep your parasol up and wear your shawl! Imagine what the town's people would think if they saw you like that!?" The tone in his voice told me that he was serious. I quickly glanced down at my day dress and realized that it was not coming up to my neckline. _Oh, god.

_"Whoops! Sorry," I said, my dad just glared at me. I turned around and picked up my bright yellow shawl from the floorboard. It was a small bit dusty, but I smacked all of the dirt and dust off with my hand, and swiftly wrapped it around my neck._

_My dad leaned over and whispered, "Parasol," I jolted backwards and enclosed my fingers around the tiny handle of my parasol, of which was in the floorboard. Then ran my hand up the long rod, all the way to the button up at the top, and pressed. Suddenly, the golden fabric up at the top unwounded itself and out came a pink-striped, yellow fabric. It shot out so fast that you couldn't tell what was the fabric and what was the sun up in the sky._

_We rode for a few more minutes, until I spotted the tips of the houses in the village. I watched the horses' hooves shuffle in the rocks as they rode through the gravel. Sometimes the sun would glimmer off the hooves of the horses and create a little sparkle. It was very beautiful and I soon became mesmerized, I couldn't take my eyes off it._

_"Are you ready?" My father asked. I glanced over at him and nodded slightly. The houses soon came into view, and I counted each one as we passed. There were seven outlining houses, and then many, _many _more the farther we got into town._

_Sometimes I would notice a child's head popping out of a window to look at the carriage as we passed. I would always wave at them, no matter if it were a girl or a boy. But only the girls waved back. I wondered why._

_After passing through the town, there were just more and more outlining houses. A couple miles later we arrived at a small farmhouse. There were fields and fields of wheat and cotton. Though, only one house and a barn only big enough for some chickens and Felipe. I was somewhat hoping for a larger house, but a house is a house._

_We reached the gravel beside the house and I saw some teenage boys coming to help us unload everything. As the boys came into view, I noticed that there were three of them. One was extremely tall and had a muscular figure. He had deep, dark, sleek black hair and a smirk on his face. My first impression was: pervert._

_There was another teenager who looked younger, and didn't have that pride in his step. I noticed light blonde streaks lined throughout his beige hair. And bright blue eyes, gleaming in the mid-day sun. He smiled lightly and had a friendly tone to himself, I instantly liked him._

_I glanced at the last one... right when our eyes connected, I felt something._

_There was a jolt in my stomach and suddenly, I couldn't take my eyes off him. He didn't have that pride in his eyes, but it wasn't that friendly gleam either. It was an intelligent stare that set off everything around him. Everything _all over me_._

_I had to rub my eyes just to make sure I knew what I was seeing. He had dark brown hair, medium-sized, not too muscular, and not too thin. As he walked, I watched his head move left and right, taking everything in. The two other boys walked straight forward, not glancing at anything, though sometimes, the blonde boy would look at the ground._

_Eventually, they reached the carriage and began pulling things off the back of it. One by one, clothing, personal possessions, all my books, were taken off the back of the carriage._

_I heard the tall one whisper to my dad, "What is it with all these books?" I listened closely, yearning to hear what my father would reply._

_"My daughter enjoys reading," I watched closely, trying to figure out what the tall boy thought of me. All he did was just stare off into space at my father; I couldn't read his expression very well _at all_._

_That's when his gaze moved over to me. I quickly turned my head away, pretending nothing had happened, "That her?" He asked._

_"Yep," My dad had a nice tone to his voice, you could tell that he was proud of me. Proud of his young, not-so-beautiful daughter who enjoyed reading. At least, that's what I always thought..._

_"Hmph...," The teen grunted, "how can anyone like reading?" He paused and looked straight into my eyes, "She's not much to look at, either. Nothin' for me there," And with that he turned around and helped the blonde headed boy unload a big pile of clothing._

_I felt a twinge of anger and pain hit my stomach. It slowly made it's way up to my throat, making my head shiver in an icy-hot bath. I felt like smacking him upside the head so hard that it knocked him straight to the ground, but I knew that it would be very unlady-like. I would be the talk of the town in just a few minutes._

_It seems that no matter what I do, I always get considered the 'oddball' or the 'ugly, weird girl.' Even back at my old town, I was always known as the girl who liked to read and write. Everyone would probably like me more if I were pretty. But no, I am one of the ugliest girls you will ever meet. And it seems that this boy right here is just another added to the list who think so._

_My dad gave me a look of sympathy, "It's okay," I told him, "Everything's fine," Even though it wasn't..._

_"Hey," I was surprised by the unfamiliar voice. Though, when I looked down, I was surprised for an entirely different reason by a familiar face, "It's okay, Gaston's always been that way."_

_It was the brown-headed teenager from out in the field. The one that I couldn't stop staring at, "I'm used to it, I've always heard those kinds of things," I said, trying to act strong, though I think he saw through my fake pride. What he saw in my eyes was pure... fear and nerves._

_"You know, I can tell it bothers you," He said. I looked up at him, he somehow knew. Well of course he did! He could see right through me, how could he _not _know!?_

Just stay calm, Kiloh, _I said to myself. _Begin a light conversation and everything will be fine_, "What's your name?" I asked._

_"Pierre," He replied, it was a regular name, nothing out of the ordinary. Unlike mine, "Would you like me to help you down?"_

_I could get down out of the carriage just fine, but I let him take my hand and pull me down, anyways. I have absolutely no idea why, some part of me just had this urge to be near him, to talk to him, to feel his hands pressed into mine._

_I held my hand out and soon felt the tip of his fingers edge slowly into the palm of my hand. I imagined his fingertips twisting through the open spaces between my fingers. Though, that did not happen..._

_Once our fingertips untwined, I looked out over into the fields of wheat. I had never smelled wheat before. It was strange, though delighting and refreshing, all in the same, "I've never seen so many fields of wheat like this before," I said, not even realizing it._

_"I suppose you'll just have to get used to it. If you do stay in the village for a while, I mean. Not move anywhere, again," He said._

_"Oh no, my dad says we'll be staying for a long time. This place will most likely be our home until I get married and find a house of my own. I have no idea what will become of my dad, though. He most likely will be staying here," I said, glancing throughout all the fields, taking it all in._

_"Well, anyways, welcome to the village. I hope you stay for many, many years, and... _hopefully_ I will be seeing you again." He said, walking away to unload. I turned back to look at him a few times, and he would always be looking at me._

_Maybe moving here wasn't so bad after all._

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><p>"Hey, you!" I heard Pierre's voice echoing throughout the field. I smiled wide open, with my teeth glimmering in the sunshine.<p>

"Good morning, Pierre, how are you today?" I asked as he came and kissed me upon the lips. A few seconds after our embrace he turned back to face me.

"I'm swell, just have a lot of work to do today," He said, making me pout a little. _He always has to work, never time for a little fun with me._

"Well, quickly, before you go, I need to tell you something."

* * *

><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	4. Links to this Story

**Links to this Story**

Wow! I can't believe how many people like this story! I love every moment of feedback! I have decided, since I've gotten so much feedback, to post this story on some more sites. Here are the links:

Quotev: story/5523874/We-are-all-Monsters/1/

Wattpad: story/25827825-we-are-all-monsters


	5. Chapter 3 - The Secret and the Prince

**Chapter Three**

The Secret and the Prince

"So, you're sure this isn't some joke from the boys out in the village?" Pierre asked. I looked into his deep, emerald eyes, uncertain of myself. It could have been a joke; it's possible that some of the boys were planning to surprise him out in the woods, and almost give him a heart attack.

"I don't know... I suppose it's possible," I paused, thinking, "When we first moved here, though, I'm pretty sure some of the villagers said that the prince's castle is out there in the woods."

"It is," I accidentally tripped over a stick as we walked through the fields, then kicked it back behind one of the stalks, "But his father recently died, and now the village doesn't get as many messages from the castle."

"Oh...," _Why am I feeling sorry for people that I don't even know? _"Does the prince ever come around to the village?" I asked.

"King Lesagero would make monthly visits to the village and try to help out people. He was a good king, I wish he could've stayed around longer to help people," Pierre said sadly, I watched as his head drooped slowly to the ground.

"Did you ever talk to him?" I asked.

"I spoke to him once, he seemed very nice and was pleasant. He tried helping my sister, my mother, and I out. He gave us food, and got his soldiers to fix up the house a little bit."

I soon began to wonder how he died. _Old age? Illness? _"How did he die?" I ask.

"Some say because he was grieving from his wife's death, and soon starved himself until _he_ died, as well. No one knows for sure, though," I found myself getting pulled deeper and deeper into the royal family's business.

"And how _did_ she die?" I asked, nudging into him.

"Haven't you already reached your limit of questions for the day?" Pierre asked, jokingly. I giggled slightly; I still wondered about everything going on about the royal castle, though.

I looked up and saw my house. I'd been staring at the ground for quite a while; watching my feet pick up off the dirt. _Left... right... left... right... _Every single step took a dirt clod along with it, and dust would bounce off the tips and sides.

Now it was time to gaze up at the house. It was very small, and there were cracks along the bricks. The bricks took up most of the house, and then there was a nice, brown, wooden roof to finish it off.

Pierre and I walked up the wooden stairs and he opened the door for me. Inside, was my table, and... my father's chair. I missed my father already, and it hadn't even been an hour... My father is the only family I have left, and I would never leave his side for even a moment; he would never leave mine, either.  
>"Hey, you okay?" Pierre asked, pulling me into his embrace. He, most likely, noticed me staring off into space and began wondering if I was doing alright.<p>

"I'm fine... just-" A single tear fell down my cheek.

"What is it?!" The tone in Pierre's voice told me that he was extremely worried.

I was missing my father... and my mother; felt like I had no one. Pierre was always gone off to work, so was dad. All I ever got to do was write. That is why that small, little tear ended up on the floor. But I couldn't tell him this, it would shatter his heart into a million pieces.

"Nothing... just thinking about dad," I said.

"Well, you'll see him soon," I looked up at him and smiled, "You know... I could tell the boys that I was ill today, but really, spend the whole time with you."  
>My heart jumped for joy! <em>Finally!<em> "Yay! I'm so glad."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and heard his smooth voice call out, "Every day that your father goes off to the castle, I promise that I'll be right here," I felt his arms pull together around my back.

_Say it, Kiloh... just say it, _"Will you come and lie on the couch with me?" I asked. My head quickly fell to the ground as I waited for a reply. I loved Pierre so much; I wanted for him to wrap his arms around me and embrace me in a kiss so deep that I wouldn't ever forget it. But I wasn't so sure that he felt the same way.

"Well come on, then," He said through a laugh. I looked up at him, flabbergasted.

I felt his hands press into my back and we both trotted over to the couch. I sat down first and felt the comfort of the soft cushion. Then, soon felt his hands cup my face while his lips touched mine.

I could not see a thing after that, my eyes stayed closed the entire time. His lips pressed into mine harder and harder each time they segregated and got back together. His body fell into mine in a rhythmic pattern, _back and forth, back and forth._ I cherished every last moment.

My hand slowly made it's way up his sleeve. I could feel the bristles of hair brushing across my fingertips, just like the wheat grains. My hands soon found his neck, where they stayed for a while. Until, I began unbuttoning his shirt. The hard, cold buttons popped off with each little, tiny bit of pressure I put on them.  
>The first few were successfully unbuttoned, and I worked my way down to the last few. I felt his chest heaving up and down as my hands searched and felt all the way through it. Once the last few were done being pulled apart; I riveted my hands up his warm body, all the way up to his neck.<p>

We paused our kissing as I pulled his shirt off, and threw it on the floor. Then resumed immediately. His hands rummaged up and down my back, almost as if they were searching for something. The tips of his fingers traced circles along my neck until his lips were there.

He kissed my neck so passionately, so tenderly... I never wanted it to end. I felt his hands ring around my neck, and rub back and forth against them. I wanted so badly to kiss him again on the lips; though I couldn't with his lips running frantically around my neck.

I suddenly noticed that we had been upright against the couch the _entire _time. _It's time to take things into my own hands, _I thought.

My hands pushed down against his shoulders and his head hit the pillow on the opposite side of the couch. I laid down right beside him, "I love you," I whispered, slightly.

"I love you, too."

* * *

><p>My head leaned into Pierre's bare chest as we both laid on the couch in silence. Our kissing had ended over twenty minutes ago, and now we were quietly enjoying each other's company.<p>

I was thinking about the conversation Pierre and I had been having out in the fields. I believe he was attempting to stall and change the subject during that time, _there must be something I'm missing here_, "Pierre?"

"Hmm...?"

"What _really _happened to Queen Lesagero?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"Well, she used to be the Italian heir, actually," _Never saw _that _coming, _"During the time that King and Queen Lesagero were both teenagers, France and Italy both went to war," _I remember hearing about this, _"People of France said that they could make peace with the Italians if their princess would marry Prince Lesagero."

"And what happened?" I asked.

"Well, they did get married, and France and Italy were at peace for a while," I nudged in, listening, "Though, whenever their son, Prince Raphael, turned eighteen, she died unexpectedly. Nobody knows what happened to her," He paused, "The last time that King Lesagero came to the village, he told me that Italy might be plotting war against us because they believed that the people of the castle murdered their beloved Queen Severina."

"How long ago was this?" I asked.

"Almost a year, Italy hasn't declared war, yet, but the king said they might."

"Why would the king tell _you _something like this?" I asked.

"I don't know, I guess he just got close to me or something," He said.

"Ah okay...? Well, go on," I said.

"Okay... about six months after Queen Lesagero died, the king died, as well. I received a letter from the castle, stating why he had died, who was going to be the king now, all that kind of stuff."

"Is the prince going to take over?" I asked.

"Currently, he's just a prince, he needs a wife to make him a king," Pierre said.

"So, are they just going to borrow another Italian heir?" I asked.

"They kept that part secretive, though promised we would have a king and queen, soon."

"I'm guessing that they told you not to tell anybody about that letter, and that's the reason why you were being so hesitant and trying to change the subject?" I said, raising my brow.

"That's exactly it," He said.

"Why trust _me_, though?" I ask.

"Because I love you," He said, I smiled. I'm glad he trusted me, but that's not why I was being so quiet.

"Father should be back by now," I said.

"He might just be doing some business that requires some time," Pierre said.

"You're probably right."

* * *

><p>"You said you had a daughter, correct?" A deep voice asked through the shadows.<p>

"Y- yes," Kiloh's father replied, shakily.

"That's '_Your Majesty' _coming from you!" The voice yelled, making Kiloh's father jump out of his seat.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"There... I hope your daughter isn't as timid as you are," The voice laughed evilly as he spoke those words. Everything that Prince Lesagero said drove a knife into Kiloh's father's heart, he knew that he was not timid, whatsoever. _Just don't pay attention to the words, don't pay attention to anything, and you'll be okay, _he thought, "Now, back to business," Kiloh's father watched as a fur-covered hand arose out of the darkness and fall back again.

_He's not human._

"You're daughter, whatever you said her name was, you will send a letter to her and tell her to come to the castle. Do you understand, peasant?" The voice asked.

Kiloh's father nodded. _Possibly, just maybe, I can ask him if I can go and get her. Then flee the country, and sneak on a ship back to America, _he thought, "Are you sure I can't just go back to my house and get her; she doesn't even know how to get here or have transportation, Your Majesty," _Surely, this will work._

The voice just laughed, "You must truly think that I am idiotic enough to believe that excuse," _OH GOD..., _"As I have said before, I need a queen. A peasant girl will just have to do since there are no more Italian heirs. I suppose that I'll have to try and move along with life knowing that I have married a peasant girl, but it is the only way for me to become king. Do you understand, peasant?" Kiloh's father felt the spit coming from the voice's mouth as he said 'peasant.'

"Yes, Prince Lesagero, I understand," He left to go and write the letter.

* * *

><p><strong>End of Day One<strong>

* * *

><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	6. Some Fun for the Readers!

I've decided to do a little something fun for the readers here! Sorry if I disappoint anyone, but I promise I will have the next chapter up tomorrow. :) I already about 1,000 words for it, so I'm sure I can get it done!

**Since I have officially hit 100 readers, I've decided to hold _three _contests!**

**1. Co-author (Place a comment stating if you would like to become co-author. I will be looking through all your accounts to see which would be best for what I have planned on this story).  
>2. OC's (Comment your OC you would like me to put in, I will only choose one though. You must tell me the personality, dislikes, likes, bio, and looks of the character. Yes, it has to fit in the storyline).<br>3. Q/A (Comment questions and I will answer them in the next chapter! Ex. How old are you? Where did you come up with the idea for this story? What are some of your fandoms? Etc.).**

**I will announce all the winners next chapter I get in!**


	7. Chapter 4 - The Sympathy and the Void

**A/N: Just to clear everything, Steve is Kiloh's father. I don't want any confusion. Also, in the next few chapters, I'm going to be switching back and forth between first person, with Kiloh, and third person, with Steve (Kiloh's father). I may be putting some other character's third person in here :). Though, only Kiloh with have first person, as she is the main character.**

**Chapter Four**  
>The Sympathy and the Void<p>

"I'm starting to get really worried about dad," I said. It'd been an _entire day _since he'd left. The longest it would've taken for him to come back would probably be around four or five hours.

"I'm sure he's fine," Pierre said, barely paying attention.

I dug my fingernails into the cushion fabric, trying to suppress the emotional pain that I was feeling. I could not _live _without my dad... my papa. I'd never had a mother, I don't even remember much of her; now my father is gone as well. _Let go... let go... let go, it's going to be alright, _the same voice appeared in my head multiple times. It always repeated the same words, _what was it trying to tell me?_ I asked myself.

My eyes squinted together tightly, and soon a tear popped out. I wasn't intending on crying, but I could not help it. For I am a weak, peasant girl who lost her mother and is near to believing that she lost her father, as well.  
><em>I am nothing.<em>

* * *

><p>The voice listened carefully as Steve read the note to him. Every once in a while the voice would make a comment or suggestion about all the different topics in the letter. And a few times, the voice even told him to write it all over again.<p>

Steve had gotten a few glimpses of Prince Lesagero, most of them, though, were only tiny details out of his appearance. Unexpectedly, the prince was some kind of animal. Steve had been watching the beast's movements closely; his hands would sometimes move up and down while speaking, he also occasionally swiped his tail around on the floor. He never saw the prince's face, but was sure that it was an animal's as well.

"Hurry up with that letter, it's taking forever for you to read it!" The prince roared, a deep growl emitting from his vocal chords. The impact that the sound had on Steve was substantial; it made him twitch in his seat and his bones rattle, while his teeth clattered and shriveled up inside themselves.

His hands shook as he read, every word that came out of his mouth was a stutter or some kind of fumble that made it hard to understand him. Steve knew that the prince was watching him, he could feel his locked gaze all over him, around the room, and on the note, "Some handwriting you got there," The prince mocked, sarcastically.

Steve felt his fingers twitch at the end of those words. _Was it the tendency to smack him? Or a slight shake of fear? _He wondered silently to himself. Either way, he kept reading, he kept reading to the only good thing he had left in his life; he kept reading to Kiloh...

* * *

><p>Rapid thoughts ran through my head, all thinking the exact same thing; papa.<p>

"It seems that I will never stop thinking about papa," I say to Pierre, while resting my knuckles under my chin, "It feels like an eternity passed since I last saw him disappearing into the forest."

I have _never _enjoyed his pity - or anyone's for that matter - I knew _exactly w_hat was about to come; he was going to be sorry for everything in my life and tell me I deserve better. Though, this time it was different, "You know what I think will make you feel better?"

I push myself up on the couch, interested in what he had to say. _It must be something having to do with our relationship, I rarely ever hear his overly-perky, charismatic voice, _"A nice drink down at the tavern, along with me and the boys."

My smile suddenly fades, "What!? Pierre, if you know me, you know that I _hate _going out in public!" I pause, trying to think of some way to get him to agree with me, "The townspeople will make fun of me; they'll tell me my dress is ugly, or say my face is too plump, or tug at my hair! Don't you remember the time when those three girls ripped my dress and made fun of how ugly I am!?"

"Dear, calm down, you're hyperventilating," I hadn't even noticed it; the sweat trickling down my neck, the heavy breathing of which my lungs caused, _everything..._

"Sorry, I just-" I couldn't even finish my sentence, the memories were overtaking my soul _way_ too fast and forcing it into the void where it had been many times. So many nights - _too _many nights! I have cried myself to sleep, or found myself staring at blank walls; attempting to figure out why, where ever I am, whether it be my first home, Georgia, or where I am now, this small village, why people dislike me.

"Pierre," I ask, "Can I have some alone time, please," I look up at him with a pleading face.

"Kiloh," He says, sympathetically, "All I want to do is make you happy," He moves his hand up to my face, "I will leave you alone, for now. But I hope to be back with an answer," He smiles, and kisses me. I can't help but smile, either.

"Just, please... think about it," I listen as he tries lightening the mood of our conversation, "Besides, if anyone tries to hurt you or make fun of you, I'll punch them in the face!" I laughed so hard that I felt my heart beating, without even having to touch my chest.

"All right, I'll think about it," I say, through a smile, "Now, leave," I push him to the door, urging him to go to work, "Your already an hour late, go meet up with the boys."

He giggles and pecks my cheek, "I'll be back around 6:30, think you'll have an answer by then?" He asks me.

I laugh and get closer to his ear, whispering, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"Oh... being a little sneaky, are we?" He opens up the door, and I watch as the sunlight hits his brown hair, making it appear dark blonde. He walks down the stairs and doesn't look back until he's already at the last one, "You know, it could be like this _every _day," He says, making me shiver.

"What are you saying?" I ask. _Is he asking for me to marry him? Or is it just that he wants to spend more time with me? _Either way, would be alright with me... _wait a minute... MARRIAGE!?_ _I'VE ONLY KNOWN PIERRE FOR THREE AND A HALF MONTHS!_

He smirks, "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

I stood there in shock, _what have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

><p><strong>Dear Kiloh, my beloved daughter,<strong>

**How are you? It has felt as if an eternity has passed since I last saw your beautiful face, I am longing to hear your voice once again. Please consider writing to me, I would enjoy it so very much.**

**I know that I have been away for over a full day, now, and I take full credit for that. I am truly sorry, I know that you must be worried. Though, Prince Lesagero has been very kind and offered me a place to stay in the castle. He says my work will be needed for a few more days, and then I may finally go home.**

**I have asked him if you are aloud to come and stay with me in the castle for the last few days I am here. Prince Lesagero has agreed to this and says he is very pleased to meet you. I will be sending a map to you once this letter is mailed out.**

**You are most likely wondering why I am staying for a little while longer than expected. Well, the prince and I had a discussion last night about my service for him and the castle, he also spoke about the money I would be getting. He said that for every extra day I work, it would be worth thirty Francs! Can you believe it? I have never earned this much money in my entire life!**

**I knew you were right all along, 'One day, our lives will suddenly change, it's bound to happen.' I will always remember those words you said to me a couple years ago, I am so proud of you.**

**Love, Father.**

Steve reread the note over and over again, attempting to find any holes that would lead to the true identity of Prince Lesagero; a beast. He knew that the beast was watching his every move, he would have to be careful if he ever wanted to get out of here alive.

"Are you finished yet?" The beast asked, obviously annoyed.

"Y- yes, Your Majesty," Steve replied, shakily, "I am finished," He took the paper and held it out in the beast's direction.

A silence soon filled the room, not even the wind blowed through the shutters. Everything was dead silent. Steve's heavy breathing abruptly stopped as he listened to the silence, the everlasting silence that continued to take over the room. The crackling of the fire stopped, the crows no longer cawed from outside, not even the prince's continuous, agitated mumbling went on.

The beast held out his hand; Steve saw the sharp, black-as-night claws reach out for the paper. The claws could shred him into pieces in only a few seconds, cut out his intestines and leave a gaping hole in his stomach. He could already feel the pointy edges of those claws ripping into his skin, his flesh. He already felt the blood gushing out onto the floor. Dripping from his body, never stopping or ending for even a moment.

The beast took the paper from Steve; he could feel the intensity and the pressure coming from the beast as he snatched it from his hands. He then growled and sank back into his chair, it seemed as if he were reading it, though Steve never saw his eyes move across the paper once. They just stared straight through it, right down a bottomless hole, leading to the void.

Steve tried not to look into the beast's eyes, but his eyes shown brighter than the sunlight. They were bright blue, almost like a blue moon rising up over a lake. (a little rhyme here) They shown through the darkness, they were the only light, they fled from the void, they were oh so bright (sorry, I had the need to rhyme, lol). His eyes were the only human-like feature on him; everything else was that of an animal, only built through the structure of a man.

The prince suddenly glanced up, making Steve jolt back in his seat. _What is he going to do?! _Steve held up his hands for protection against the beast, though there was no need for that, "Put your arms down!" He roared, ferociously, "I am not going to harm you, idiot. I just want for you to read this to me!"

Fear still coursed through Steve's body and mind, though a sigh of relief took over the terror of being eaten alive. _Can he read at all? _Steve wondered to himself, silently. He decided not to ask, "Yes, Your Majesty."

Steve took the note, careful not to touch those claws, and read it ever so carefully. He made sure that he read it slowly and without a stutter or fumble of words. Even though terror and horror fed on him, he read through it, he read through it all.

Once he was finished, Prince Lesagero said, "You really make me sound like I'm a decent person," Steve wasn't sure whether this was a good or bad thing, "I hate it, hate it so much! But...," He sighs, "It has to be like this," He then looked up, "Why, father? Why did you have to die and make me go through this? I never wanted a wife! Besides," He laughed, "Who would ever want me, anyways!?"

"Your Majesty, are you all right?" Steve asked, unusually feeling sympathy for someone as evil as him.

The prince growled once more, and turned to face Steve. The beast's fangs were sticking out and bared together, saliva drizzled off his animal snout and lips. _I can't believe my daughter is going to marry such a thing! _Steve winced back, trying to not look at the prince's face, it made him want to vomit upon the floor. The prince was absolutely repulsive now that Steve could see his entire form! There were many different shades of brown fur emitting from his face, soon ending in an on-going mane.

He had many, _many _rows of sharp,saliva-bound fangs. They all looked as if they were going to bite into him and break his neck if he came any closer. Steve hesitantly left from his chair and began stepping backwards.

"I'm hideous, aren't I?" The prince asked. Steve watched closely as he pulled his cape around, trying to conceal his form. That's when everything changed; Steve remembered the day Kiloh had come home crying because three girls had ripped her dress apart, and called her ugly and worthless.

He remembered the tears the had shed, the way her body shook whenever it was overcome with sadness, he also remembered the hyperventilation. Whenever something like this happened, she always hyperventilated and sweat would overtake her forehead and neck.

Steve soon realized that Prince Lesagero was the same way... no different. He had a _much_ more hideous face than Kiloh! Kiloh was gorgeous! But, people still took them as different and ugly and unwanted.

Maybe... Prince Lesagero isn't all that bad...

The beast's roar came at the worst possible time, "_PEASANT! YOU STUPID, STUPID PEASANT!_" It shook the entire castle, and made Steve crumble to his feet, "_GO SEND THIS LETTER TO YOUR DAUGHTER RIGHT NOW, DO NOT HAVE PITY FOR ME!"_

Then again... maybe not...

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Wow... that was deep for even ****_me _****to write! Anyways, the new co-author is ****_BUM BUM BUM! _****u/4200586/yasdnilgoth ! Congrats! I'm still looking for some QNA and OC's!**

* * *

><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	8. Chapter 5- The Hatred and the Reflection

**A/N: Y'all are finally going to get a description of Kiloh's appearance! Yay! Also, there's going to be a section in this chapter where Kiloh's P.O.V. is in third person. Just know that ****_only _****Kiloh will be in first person, although, she may go to third a few times. (I'm having a surprise P.O.V. in this chapter!)**

**Chapter Five**

The Hatred and the Reflection

Kiloh stood there, staring at herself through the mirror. Her hairline stretched all the way back to her ears, uncovering her large, plump, round face. Unless, she pulled her hair back, that was the only way to make her face appear ordinary and somewhat beautiful; the only reason why some people called her gorgeous... they had no know what she was hiding. Besides, even if they did want her to pull her hair back, they would never ask. Kiloh's hair was far too precious for anyone to want it to be pulled away from sight.

Kiloh stroked her hair, lovingly; it was smooth as silk. Each small strand could break off easily. Though, when they all came together in one, big heap of hair, nothing could possibly break them. Kiloh remembered back to the days when her hair was golden-white. That time period only lasted for a few years, though; from the time she was born, until she was around four or five. Whenever she turned six, brown roots had taken over the top of her head, and only blonde highlights were left straggling down at the bottom.

Kiloh _had_ wanted her blonde back, though; her hair just kept getting browner and browner. She never truly realized that she liked brunette hair better than blonde until she turned twelve. After that, all she wanted was for her hair to keep getting darker. Now her wish had finally come true; brunette roots were at the top of her head, and brown highlights left to straggle at the bottom. She absolutely _loved_ it!

Every one in a while, she would find a blonde strand at the bottom of her brown highlights. She never did rip it out though; nor scowl at it, she simply let it be. Although she wanted nothing more, than to become a brunette, she couldn't help that microscopic feeling of sadness. How she did miss her child days, back to when things were simple... when things were peaceful. There was never a care in the world, and she hadn't lost her mother, yet, either.

When she thought she had stroked her hair enough, her gaze moved to her eyes. People had _always _been jealous of her eyes; 'princess eyes,' is what they would call them. Kiloh loved these compliments; they made her feel as if she were beautiful in some ways... even though she knew she wasn't.

_It's always been an odd feeling, staring back at myself,_ she thought. Sometimes, Kiloh felt as though this weren't her own reflection, as though she were staring at someone else. It wasn't because she couldn't fit her personality into her image, it was that she was so used to talking and seeing people this way. She never thought of herself having an image, as well as them, just some kind of spirit, formlessly floating in the air. At least... that's the way people always treated her.

Nothing caught her attention more so than her eyes. Her eyes held a bland stare, lifelessly staring back at her. As though she were at a funeral, and the person in the coffin were staring straight up and down her bones, awaiting the day when Kiloh would be joining him. Only until she made a facial expression did it stay bland. She attempted smiling, though it did not look like a true smile; her cheeks were far too low. She pulled her hands up out of the pockets in her dress and tried massaging her cheek muscles. She had recently been playing clarinet and her cheeks were awfully tired, but... she knew that she had to get this smile _just_ right! So she kept on trying.

Eventually, her eyes glowed enough and her face content enough for her to accept it as a smile. She made a mental note to work on other facial expressions sometime later, as of now, though; she only wanted to impress her beaux with her new, beautiful smile. Ever since they moved to the village, the only times she ever did smile were when she wrote or when she was with Pierre. The rest of the time she remained completely blank. Besides, if Pierre was planning on proposing, surely, she needed a smile to greet him with. _This really could be the start of a new life_, she thought, _not only that her beaux might ask her for her hand in marriage, but also the new job her father had at the castle... HER FATHER!_

Kiloh began running frantically about the room,_ how could she have completely forgotten about her father!?_

* * *

><p>Anger consumed the beast as he barged into his room. The emotional pain he was feeling at the moment took over his mind, he didn't even feel like looking in the enchanted mirror to see if the man - whatever he said his name was - had gone off to send the letter. For the beast's heart was too grave and too deep for any curiosity to be let in... his soul was too lost. It was lost deep in the forest, far beyond his castle. He had left it there the day after he transformed into a beast... so many years ago.<p>

He remembered it as if it'd happened yesterday,

**_WARNING! EXTREME VIOLENCE, GORE, DEATH, AND SUPERNATURAL PROPERTIES BEYOND THIS POINT!_**

* * *

><p><em>Raphael, for once in his life, knew that he needed to calm down. He was so sure that it was all just a horrible, terrible dream that the enchantress had turned him into a beast. But no, that morning when he woke up, he still had monstrous paws and the horns of a dragon. He was still a beast.<em>

_He remembered running off to the forest, searching for comfort, for a way to stop this raging, beating heart inside of him. The damp forest from the rain gave him a sense of peace, but his body was still stiff with anger. He wanted so badly to roar, to yell out in frustration, to get this feeling out of his system! But he did not want to ruin the peace of the forest, nor himself... though,_ could he get much worse than this? What else was there to ruin?_ He thought silently to himself._

_The beast stood there for a moment, deciding whether or not he would roar. The whole entire world seemed to stop, and he could no longer feel the numbness of his hands and feet. He no longer heard the birds around him, nor could he smell anything. He only had the strong tendency to roar, to roar so loudly that he could feel it vibrating in the back of his throat. So loud that it shook the earth and make everything else crumble beneath his feet,_ all his,_ he thought._

_It seemed for a moment he could not find the elusive roar trying so hard to escape his throat. He soon became frustrated with himself again, remembering what had happened to him last night, what the enchantress had done to him._

The enchantress... _the beast stiffened with anger; he could no longer contain himself, after remembering what she had done to him. He wanted to tear her to shreds, bite her neck and rip it off from the rest of her body, and then to laugh at her; laugh at her so hard that it soon became a monstrous, devilish roar! He was already piecing it together in his mind; he could see it quite clearly, now. One day, she would visit him and he would be standing near, waiting to pounce on her. Soon, claws would rip flesh, screams and roars would combine, and he would be eating the meat from his latest kill._

_He could already taste the blood_ pouring _from her neck... the wounds and the claw-marks just_ gushing _out blood, and the_ tender... tender _meat he would be able to chew... His stomach began to growl; saliva dripped from his mouth as he produced the images in his mind._

_Suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard the sound of squeaking. The beast jolted backwards in fear and tripped over a rock, he hit his head _extremely _hard on the ground. The beast could not fathom or comprehend anything during his time of flight. For he was too lost. Too lost... All he remembered was seeing a wild boar from out of the forest running faster and faster towards him._

Too lost... too lost...

_The boar snorted and dug his hooves into the soft dirt..._ it was going to ram into him.

A soul so lost that even the dark evil of which owned the woods, could not comprehend what was happening.

_The boar charged the beast..._

_A sharp pain hit his sides; Raphael only had one thing on his mind: kill, murder, eat, death..._

_Using the last bit of strength he had, the beast sank his fangs deep into the boar's skin, right before it could take another charge. The boar shrieked in pain and agony. A regular person would have winced at the ear-piercing, deleterious shriek. But the beast enjoyed it, for he was staring the human race irreconcilably in the eye. He was a killer, a hunter; he fed on the harmless animals of the forest. He stalked them until he finally got what he wanted, warm, fresh blood. The people of the village could never do what he just did; his old body could never do what he just did._

_The beast laughed evilly, realizing that it might not have been so bad transforming into this._

_The meat was all his._

_His soul was too lost._

_If his soul were too lost, long gone, he would need blood to fulfill his dark empty soul. It was so cold, freezing cold, in his soul. He needed the steaming hot blood of an innocent animal to fill the holes, to thaw the ice, to light the fire._

_Once the shadow of death had taken its toll on the animal, and it sank to the ground. The beast pulled himself over and began to chomp on the fur of it, and then he would spit it back to the leaves. Repeatedly, over and over again, he did this, until he reached the tender meat and refreshing blood._

_Hunger... anger... it took over all of him._

_Too lost... too lost..._

* * *

><p>Ever since that day, all the beast wanted to do, was go out to the forest and kill a helpless animal. He'd eaten the hide off of boars, deer, wild turkey, quail, and many, many other types of animals that ran rapid in the forest. Not once did the Enchantress appear before him, like he'd hoped. The Enchantress was his main target, if he ever got to her, he would surely rip her throat out and finally be content with his life.<p>

For now, though, the only things out in the forest that could attack and hurt him were, wolves and bears. He knew that they were dangerous and could kill him easily. Though, he still hunted; nothing could stop him. And now that he was a full-grown beast, he could finally go after bears and wolves; he no longer feared them so, like he used to.

Raphael was so caught up in the thoughts of the Enchantresses' meat; he didn't even realize that he'd walked all the way over to his bed. The bed-sheets were ripped and torn all across. He never wanted to replace them, though; for it was a reminder. A reminder of his gruesome, hideous appearance. _I am a beast... I am a beast... _the incessant voice in his head would say.

The only times he ever enjoyed being a beast, since his transformation, was when he went hunting out in the forest. Though, whenever he came back to the castle, and the servants stumbled to his feet in fear, he absolutely _despised _every moment! From his long gone humanly ways they would try and force him back in to, to how they shivered whenever they came upon him. The only place he felt welcome and comfortable, was the forest; nothing more.

That is the one reason why he ever wanted to stay a beast; though, ever since his father died, not too long ago, he's had to take up his position in the castle. His father used to do all the work, and allowed him to go outside and enjoy himself. _If I were only human, I could be doing these things; I could become king, _he said to himself, silently.

The beast tried to get himself to believe that he could become a man once again, if he earned this woman's love. Though, he did not want a hesitant, ignorant peasant; he wanted a wise noblewoman - a princess -, someone who could help him control his anger. Like his mother used to... before she died.

The man downstairs was somewhat decent, it seemed as if he had sympathy for him. But, the beast did not want pity or sympathy, he only wanted control... a way of understanding from others, respect. He did not want people to look him in the eyes and speak to him as though he were a human who's family member had just died, he wanted them to look at him as though he were a king; fear him, yet respect him at the same time.

_"Wait...," _he whispered ever so quietly, "_once I marry this peasant girl... I shall become king. People will respect me, though... I will still be a beast; a fear-triggering beast!"_

He soon realized that if he married this peasant girl, people might finally treat him the way he wanted to be treated; and that he could still remain a beast in the process! Everyone had always feared him, trembled beneath him; especially that first day he came to the castle with boar remains on him. Though, only now, would they finally treat him with respect, not tell him to stop being selfish or temperamental. _I will finally get what I want, maybe even find love... NO! YOU SHALL REMAIN A BEAST! DO NOT THINK OF SUCH THINGS!_

His claws dug deeper into the sheets, he then scraped them all the way down to the middle of the mattress. He was angry, frustrated, and confused; _will it be this way forever?_

* * *

><p>Kiloh, at the moment, was relatively happy. Her father had just sent her a letter, and she had only now finished reading. She had begun to look in her closet for something to wear tomorrow. Though, couldn't pick out anything 'castle-worthy.'<p>

After that lovely experience, she decided to move back to the mirror; working on her facial expressions and gazing at her jaw-line. Although she had a round face, she had a sharp jaw-line that gave her an intimidating look. She also had arched eyebrows above her enchanting, fire-bound eyes, which made it all the more intense. _If only she didn't have a plump round face..._

Kiloh looked deep into her eyes. She noticed the blue rim set a base for the rest of the color involved; giving the lighter blue and neon green a beautiful essence to themselves. Making them special. _Besides_, she thought, _what's light without dark? What's good without bad? What's life without death?_

* * *

><p>"The Devil is an angel, too."<p>

**~ Miguel de Unamuno ~**


	9. Chapter 6 - The Plantation and the Years

**Over the Winter Wall's Note: Sorry that I haven't updated in so long! I'm also adding some things in here from Gone With the Wind (the book) and Over the Garden Wall. ****This was meant to be a Christmas chapter... but, you know, life - I guess.  
>Anyways, I've decided to make this story in 1860's or so, during the Civil War era, and the Civil War is the reason why Kiloh and her Father left Georgia - well... along with her Aunt (I'll explain throughout the story how this all goes; for now, just sit back and read).<br>One more thing before we begin, I have made this chapter longer since I haven't updated in a while. I promise they all won't be this long. :)**

**Chapter Six**

The Plantation and the Years**  
><strong>

_"Come quickly, my daughter!" Mother called. "Before I leave to the ball, I would like to show you something." I hurriedly raced into Mother's room, hoping that she would finally teach me how to apply make-up. Earlier, she had promised me that she would let me play with her lipstick, eye shadow, and rouse. _Oh, I can't wait!

_"Yes, Mother, I am coming!" I soon found myself in Mother's room, which was decorated with pieces of fabric strung around each column and baby Christmas trees that Father had earlier chopped down in the forest. There were three of them in the room, and each with around twenty ornaments. This morning, Mother and I had taken balls of paper, and painted them to look like Christmas presents. We then put them under the tiny trees; when father came in, he tried opening them to see if they were real and we all ended up laughing._

_"Aw... Shiloh, you look lovely with that new dress your Father and I bought you!"_ _(I do not usually like it when people call me by my real name; I like to be called Kiloh - my nickname)._ _Mother gasped, excitedly and my eyes soon trailed to the blue dress; the first layer was an ordinary shade of blue, and then, like the first blues of morning sky, the lighter shade conjoined into the darker. The stars danced around the darker shade, leaving it quite messy and wrinkled; while the bright sun guided the lighter shade, taking a smooth finish along with it. "Let's just fluff this bottom part out a little," she said, fitting the bottom of the dress into her palms and shaking the wrinkles out._

_I soon became a little anxious, _is she going to teach my how to apply make-up?_ I decide to ask. "Mother?" Hopefully she will answer me, and not keep shaking out those wrinkles. She had been doing it for quite some time, now; and the majority of them were already out._

_"Yes, dear?" I knew she was paying attention, though some part of her voice sounded like all she really wanted was for these wrinkles to go away, nothing else._

_"Are you going to teach my how to use make-up, like you promised?" I tilt my head to the side, protrude my lip, and then put on my pouty eyes._

_"Once your Father gets home, then we will," she said, patting me on the head._

_I squealed in delight, jumping up and down without even realizing it._

_"Shiloh!" I froze. "Do not get carried away; joy is expressed with a light smile and calm words, not squealing and jumping up and down. Do you understand?" she said, her blonde hair leaping up into the air as she snapped. It then came back down once she began correcting my manners and expressions._

_"Yes, Mother," I said, keeping my head down. Every single time I get over-excited about something and begin expressing my emotions a little too rapidly, Mother would very quickly, using peaceful words and emphasis, calm me down and correct me. I look up into her eyes of a green explosion and finally understand that she only wanted to help me. Now that I think about it, maybe that's all she's ever been trying to do - like when she tells me to sit still in Church, or to not squeal when I get over-excited, like right now, and, most of all, to not play with the darkies and neighborhood boys in the mud; all because she wants me to become a 'lady,' whatever that's supposed to mean._

_But who cares about what she thinks, right? Shouldn't I just be myself? Besides, I have never enjoyed the personality traits of the other girls anyways; they're always flirting with my friends - the young neighborhood boys - and insulting me because I play with the darkies. It seems as if all the girls have at least five beaux and I have absolutely nothing but playmates. I'm not jealous of them, of course; they're all snobby brats and I consider the darkies and the boys my friends, nothing more. Sometimes, however, the scolds and the smirks and the stares can begin to sink deeper into your skin... until it hurts and other people begin to notice. My one wish: to never, _ever_ be like them and don't give in to what others say._

_I only wish that Mother would understand that being yourself is the best thing you _can_ be. However, I do enjoy some of the things she teaches me, because some of those things _are _me, putting on make-up, dancing, etc. But dresses, a prissy, high-pitched, Southern-belle accent, and letting boys and men take advantage of you are not._

_I remember when I was three, Mother and Father would watch me out in the fields; running through the grass, climbing up the trees, digging in the dirt - whatever I had been doing. Oh! how I miss those days when Mother would say, "She will grow out of it," and not, "Don't you ever do that again!" It aggravates me to no end and she won't seem to stop telling me to do the things that my heart desires. Just thinking about the fields makes my soul grumble with hunger for the outdoor world. I want the birds and the bees back in the trees, I want the sun and the moon and the stars back above; I want the dirt and the Georgia red clay beneath my feet and the cool water flowing through my toes with the smushy, ooey-gooey mud edging the outlines of my toenails. I remember the sun and the sky, and the wind calling my name, while I played tag with the neighborhood boys._

_Now, instead of the sky up above and all the wondrous things it holds, there are white ceilings that won't ever compare to the endless black of the night and the twinkling of the stars oh, so far away; there are only marble floors and tiled bathrooms along with voices colliding into each other in an impossible shriek that you cannot understand, instead of many voices and multiple opinions echoing through the rolling hills and soft forests, all ending in one, gorgeous tune that everyone can comprehend and understand._

_Whenever I come inside, I feel trapped and I cannot describe as many things throughout my mind; I need the scorch and the long breaths of the summer so that I don't forget the chills and the shadows and the echoes of the winter. I also need the birds' songs and the bright colors of the spring so that I can later on relate it to the rising and falling of heat and the gentle wind beckoning through the leaves as autumn colors fall._

_I need every season, I need every moment, I need the outside; I want the freckles in the summer, the pale-white skin in the autumn, the frostbitten fingertips in the winter, and the fair, peach-palomino cheeks in the spring._

_I was so deep into what I had lost and Mother's deep lectures that I forgot I even had a Father who thought like me. "I'm home! Now where might me little Kiloh be!?" I heard Father exclaim in his deep, rich mixture of a Southern and Irish accent._

_I sprinted out of Mother's room so fast that my bouncing hair blocked out her screams and her yells for me to come straight back into her room. I wanted my Father so badly at that moment; I wanted his encouragement for me to be myself, his comforting hug, his accent, and his humor... I wanted my Father in general. I wait everyday for him to be done with his work and for him to come home and spend time with me. Of course each night, he and Mother fight and I sneak up the halls to listen in on their conversation; that's the only thing I dislike when Father comes home._

_Usually, the arguments are about my personality and how I get my hard-headedness from my Father's 'Irish ways' - another thing she says often that I don't quite understand. I know that my Father's ancestors traveled from Germany to Ireland, that's where our last name, Ghettzer, comes from, and the last few generations stayed there, marrying the Irish girls and making everyone have brown-red hair instead of a striking, flame-red tint. My Father's siblings are all brown-red-heads and he was the only one with light brown and red streaks. You can't see much of his red anymore; however, somehow still know it's there._

_After she ends her reasoning about me being part-Irish and _that_ being why I am more like a boy than a girl, my Father bites back with, "Why, my wife! 'Tis a boy in her heart, 'tis a boy she'll be!"_

_Mother knows Father extremely well and can figure out any person easily; being who she is, she always replies, "Stephen, you and I both know that if Shiloh does not change her ways and her habits, she will end up without beaux and never get married. That way you will never have grandsons to work with you out on the plantation."_

_More than anything, Father wanted his grandbabies; and every time she said that, I knew exactly what was going through Father's mind... Here is where the argument ends and Father agrees with Mother, but still believes that I should have more time to be myself. Besides, I _am _the only child, I know that he wants me to have the likings and the personality traits of an Irish-Southerner - like himself._

_Sometimes I never know why Mother and Father got married in the first place; they both always argue over the same thing and I can't do anything about it besides stand there, peeking through the crack in their door and breathing on the silver knob. Then Mammy would call me back into my room and ask me why I was snooping around. Mammy knows all of my secrets - more than Mother, more than Father - all because I could never lie to her since she'd been so good to me throughout the years. She was almost like the Mother I always wanted in a way; she didn't want me to become a Southern-belle, she wanted me to be myself and was glad to see me doing just that._

_"There she be!" Father yelled, his arms outstretched and red from work; I noticed that his beard hadn't been shaved in a couple of days and when he talked, it moved up and down, making the bristles almost mimic the pattern of a jellyfish. I jumped into his arms and he spinned me around many, many times until we both became dizzy._

_His eyes danced with joy and love and so did mine; nothing can break the bond of father and daughter, not even a grumpy mother who doesn't get her way. "Shiloh!" Mother practically screamed, stomping into the room from the light-green hallway. Her face was blood red with anger and her hair seemed to be putting out the smoke from the fire since it was billowing side-by-side in a flame-like pattern; she really _did _look like a fire to me. Her face was red as the inside of a flame, then her beige-blonde hair dignified the tips of the fire and flowed much like the inside of a hearth. The only thing that took away her essence was the green dress she was wearing; brick-brown-red would have been much better._

_Pulling into the coat-pocket of Father's jacket, I attempted to ignore Mother's bickering; Father reached his hand out and continued to caress my soft baby hair, which comforted me against Mother's words. I do love my Mother; I only wish that she could understand that there are differences in the world and I am myself, nothing else._

* * *

><p><em>"It's not fair," I complain to Father, turning away from the fields and laying my head down on his muddy jacket. Father twirled the tips of my curls in his fingers and attempted to calm me down; I would prefer his calming techniques over Mother's any day, her's were always taking me into her white-walled room of no absolute color or texture, and give me an hour long lecture. Father's were different, though; he always takes me out to the fields and we both sit down by a ginormous tree that spins and twirls all the way up to the sky.<em>

_"Now, now, Kiloh, you know your Mother's just tryin' to help ya-"_

_"No she ain't! She's just makin' sure that I end up bein' like one 'a those prissy, little, stick girls! Well, guess what!? I ain't never gonna be like one 'a dem, I is gonna stay like myse'f and go and play in de mud whenever I feel like it!" I screamed in his face, full of rage._

_"Kiloh! Kiloh! My sweet Kiloh, you're beginning to talk like of them darkies; you can talk in your regular Southern accent when your Mother ain't around, but not one like one of those boys ya play with, ya hear?" he said._

_"I can talk however I wanna talk, Pa! Oh, but, please, _please _don't tell _Mama_ I was talkin' like a darkie! She'd spank me and then sell Mammy off to some other family, thinking that I got it from her; oh, please!" I begged, pulling into his coat and getting all of its dirt from work under my fingernails._

_"Kiloh, you know I would never do that," he said, drying up my tears. "But listen to me when I say this," he first got himself up and then took my hand and pulled me up as well; I listened carefully as I pressed my body up against his, "there be nuthin' more important than the land we live on. Our grass, our fields, our forests, and I know you love it and you know just how I know you love it?" I shook my head. "'Cause you got Irish blood in ya and there's no takin' away the love 'a the land away from an Irish person!"_

_I smiled up at Father and soon went over in my mind what he had only just finished saying. "But Pa, isn't love of family and friends important, too?" I ask, basing my argument on what the characters in my books had always said._

_"Why, Kiloh - surely you have found out by now that the land _is _the love!?" he exclaimed. "Why, land is the only thing worth_ fightin'_ for, worth _dyin'_ for... worth _livin'_ for, because 'tis the only thing that lasts." He trailed off near the end of his speech, which resulted in me feeling as though his words were the only truth in the world. Everything in the books I had read was washed away and replaced by his words and his explanation of the land; besides, all of my feelings for people - Mother, for example - wavers and doesn't stay constant. Sometimes I feel as though I love Mother, and sometimes I want to run away from her and begin another life. But my love of our house and this tree and the rolling hills and the quiet forest - I don't think I could ever forget them or hate them._

_They hold my spirit and my childhood, and if I am ever taken away from them for whatever reason, I will surely die. The land is a part of me and if I lose it, it's almost as if a piece of my soul has been taken away._

* * *

><p>I laughed at the thought of my childhood self; I would get upset easily and loved the land so very much. I also had the strangest thoughts, <em>where in the world did I come up with my Father's beard appearing as the pattern of a jellyfish? <em>I ask myself. My thoughts were all scattered as well, not coordinated and fathomed as they are today. I suppose that's what it's like for people who don't write and can't get all of their ideas out and form them into separate groups.

I do however respect myself because, back then, I had always thought that the land and I would always be close-knit friends and that Father, Mammy, and I would all live in the house together with no other darkies and... without Mother. But I never truly missed Mother until she was gone; I never truly realized that... love may be temporary, and land may last forever, but at some point you are always going to miss things.

Even if Father _was_ correct over his thoughts of how the land _is _the love, I changed my opinion many, many years ago about his side of the argument. I still remember the day that I was separated from my wonderful, beautiful land that kept my family in peace and harmony... I still remember the day my entire life was flipped upside down and left to hang in the middle of the fog; Mother had died only a few weeks earlier and my Aunt Delilah _repeatedly, over and over again_ - I remember how annoyed I got by all of her letters - sent letters for me to come and live with her.

Aunt Delilah was a very prominent and peculiar person; she always wanted to be noticed and to be as much as an electrifier as possibly for all people, including her own family. Every time she visited, she would wear the most colorful clothes she could find; a purple sash, red scarf - around Christmastime -, orange skirt, green bonnet, etc; and she made sure they stood out to everyone. I remember her coming up and telling people where she had gotten the clothing fabric and would ask people whether or not they liked it.

One Christmas, she went around the dinner table while everyone was eating and asked each person what they thought of her clothes; I could tell that they all were extremely annoyed by this, but no one said anything, not even Dad, so I told her that I thought it was very ugly and she should stop getting people to notice her - and it was ugly, in my opinion. Of course, Mother, since Aunt Delilah is her sister, spanked me for being 'rude,' and then sent me to bed without supper – although I did sneak some biscuits, I was still exceedingly hungry that night.

I have always hated Aunt Delilah, from her Southern-belle accent, to her fancy of being noticed, to her foolish, silly clothes, and beyond. But after all those letters were sent back and forth for me to come live with her, did I realize I would have to finally have to learn to deal with it. She did not like the idea of me growing up in a home with an Irish, hard-headed father, darkies running around, me playing with them, and no Mother; after Father had come back from fighting in the war, is when she finally adopted me. She said that once my Father had cleaned himself up and was ready for a child, she would let him have me, but until then I would have to live with her in Savannah.

I lived in the town of Rome, Georgia, where much machinery was made. There was always the booming sound of the cannons and the machinery and artillery being tested out. Rome was only an hour from Atlanta, which was the Confederacy's central for the war, and Rome helped out a lot in many of the preparations. Savannah was an older town, right on the coastline and 204 miles away from where I lived.

It is usually appropriate for families visiting kin to stay for a few months to a few years, and if you are elderly and not expected to live much longer, you are supposed to stay there until you die. However, in my case, I had to stay there until my Father got his act together… and mine as well; Aunt Delilah helped me learn proper etiquette, told me everything there is to know about being a Southern-belle – how we walk, how we talk, how we let men take advantage of us without them realizing that we're playing them like a stack of cards; but we only do that with beaux until they ask us, for at least the third time, our hand in marriage -, she also taught me to read more fluently, which soon led to my writing ability. You could tell by the look on her face whenever she read my stories how astounded and how impressed she was by my talent.

That was the only thing that I ever thanked her for, teaching me how to read and write; by doing so I was, from then on, considered 'the oddball,' but at least there was one thing she taught me I actually enjoyed and was a part of me. I did not care for her 'Southern-belle' teachings, and she knew I did not. But I figured that the only way for me to get back to Father and our plantation would be for me to tolerate her and her teachings until I finally found my way back home.

I replayed it in my head for ten years… ten long, longer than you can possibly ever imagine, years. I constantly, repeatedly, from the time I was seven to how old I was when I left Aunt Delilah's – seventeen – playing the imaginary scene in my head when the carriage would drop me off at my plantation. Then I would run, not walk, _RUN _through the fields, tripping over the sticks from excitement and falling into the creek behind the house because I longed to see Mammy and Father so. I pictured the plantation full of life and full of spring; I could see the gorgeous colors in the treetops and the bright, neon green in the grass. The dirt would smush through my toes again and my hands would cup the clear, creek water that ran throughout the woods. I could feel it spreading through my fingers with the gurgling emotion that went deeper than my heart. I could finally climb the trees again and get the scrapes on my knees and calves that I got each time; I wanted the pain more than any of the reviving, calm feelings. The pain soon brought my pounding heart and made me feel more alive than ever; I no longer had to sit still and keep everything in my body straight with a corset tighter than the tightest knot anyone could possibly tie – whoa! tongue twister.

After I reunited with the land, I would sprint up to Father, who would be waiting for me at the entrance, and then wrap my arms around him and kiss him on the cheek. Mammy would also be there and the first thing she would do is say, "Why!? Lil' Miz Kiloh! yo' corsit is w_a_y too tigh'! You look lak you dun turn in'o a lil' ole stick! Wha' am I gwine do wit' chu and dat Aunt 'o yur's!? Tyin' you up lak dat!? Mmm, mmm," she would grunt in disapproval, "dat's a disgrace!" We would all then end up laughing and she would fix me up into what I had always worn before I traveled to Aunt Delilah's.

"Unfortunately, though, that did not happen," I say to myself through a sigh, gazing across my room. I roll my eyes as I remember my real name, Shiloh, and I roll them again, remembering how Aunt Delilah's slow, connected, stupid coastline accent pronounced it. "_Shiloh_," I say, mimicking her tone.

"Ach… well, I'll just finish the story – I guess," I pause, attempting to find the words to say, "Well, Aunt Delilah, being the piece 'a rich, white trash she was, said she would send me back to the plantation; but instead made arrangements for my Father and I to move here. And she challenged us both to perfect our manners. I never quite found out how she was expecting us to accomplish this, but my Father agreed anyways; he said that possibly, while we were in Europe, we could visit his homeland.

"And although I never got to see my plantation, I am still very excited to begin a new life; besides, I did find Pierre and we are going on a date tonight," I say, excitedly. I know, I know – I talk to myself a lot; but sometimes, I like to think that talking to myself and writing helps me get the thoughts out albeit I must sound crazy. I suppose that the words help me grasp on to what's happened and make it seem as though it really is there. Because sometimes I feel as if I'm still playing in the mud with those boys even after ten long, longer than you can possibly imagine, years.


End file.
